


8 plus 1

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (In chapter 2), First Kiss, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, ask to tag, but y’know it’s crowley, its mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-29 04:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20956565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A demon isn’t supposed to love an angel. So why is that all Crowley can think when he sees Aziraphale?An angel isn’t supposed to kiss a demon. So why is that all Aziraphale wants to do?





	1. 8 times Crowley didn’t tell Aziraphale he loved him, and one time he did

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never read the book, so all these scenes are taken from/based on the TV show. Thank you for reading!!!

The angel was talking, saying something about “ineffable” and “unable to be put into words.” Crawley was only half-listening; the other half of him was busy watching. Watching this angel, this creature who hadn’t smite him on sight, who hadn’t even seemed to want to attack him. Who had talked to him, engaged him in conversation. Polite conversation, which was something Crawley hadn’t had since... He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. Watching the angel’s hands, fluttering slightly as he spoke. Watched his body. His eyes drifted, almost against Crawley’s will, down to his midsection, and lower, to where the angel’s sword was sheathed… 

Or, rather, had been sheathed. It wasn’t there anymore. 

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” asked Crawley, his eyes flitting back up to meet the angel’s before glancing over him once again. 

“Uhm,” stammered the angel. 

“You did, it was flaming like anything. What happened to it?” asked Crawley, trying to meet those blue eyes as the angel refused to look at him. 

“Uh… um…” the angel stammered again. 

“Lost it already, have you?” asked Crawley, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. He didn’t seem like the type to lose something so important, but the past seven days had been full of surprises for Crawley, so it wasn’t out of the question. 

Quietly, so quietly Crawley almost didn’t hear, the angel said, “I gave it away.” 

“You what?” gasped Crawley. 

“I gave it away!” said the angel, finally turning to look at Crawley again for just a moment. “There are vicious animals out there.” 

Crawley couldn’t stop the smile creeping across his face as the angel continued. He’d helped the humans, gone against God’s will. The only other angels to do that... 

Crawley pushed the thought out of his mind. 

“It’s going to be cold out there, and she’s expecting already! So I said, here you go, flaming sword, don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.” The angel sighed, heavily, the noise seeming to tug at something in Crawley’s chest. “I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.” 

Crawley couldn’t have stopped the very un-demonic words he said next if he’d wanted to, and he very decidedly didn’t. “Ohh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” 

The angel smiled, finally making eye contact with Crawley. “Oh, oh, thank you– oh, thank you. It’s been bothering me.” He looked away, that little smile lingering on his lips. 

“Y’know, I’ve been worrying, too,” said Crawley, against his better judgement. But then, this whole conversation was against his better judgement. Might as well continue. “What if I did the right thing, with the whole eat the apple business?” He watched the fear returning to the angel’s eyes as he spoke. “A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.” The angel looked afraid again. Dammit, he’d fucked it up. 

Crawley decided to try and lighten the mood. “Be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one?” He let out a small chuckle that strengthened at the sight of the angel’s smile, at his laugh, as he looked away from Crawley. 

Then the angel’s smile fell off his face. “No! No, that wouldn’t be funny at all!” 

Crawley shrugged slightly. 

Then the rain began to fall. Crawley watched the angel again, watched him look up at the sky, then over at Crawley. 

Crawley figured that one more transgression shouldn’t hurt things. He took a step towards the angel, and felt the chest of his new corporation squeeze as the angel extended his wing over Crawley’s head, shielding him. 

It was only fear, fear that this next transgression would be too far, that kept him from saying the words running through his mind, over and over and over again, as the two watched the rain and the humans and continued to talk. 

### 

Crowley was sitting in a pub in Rome, glowering about and generally minding his own business, when he heard a voice. A voice that seemed to tug at his chest. He’d only heard it once or twice over the past four thousand some-odd years, and every time he heard it, he knew he needed to find some excuse to see Aziraphale more. 

“Crawley– Crowley!” exclaimed Aziraphale, and Crowley looked up to see the angel positively beaming at him. 

Crowley’s heart skipped a beat, and for a second, Crowley was afraid his stupid corporation was about to fail. But then the angel slid into the stool next to him, still beaming, saying “Well, fancy running into you here,” and Crowley’s heart melted, and he knew what was happening. 

Aziraphale glances over at the bartender, who was studiously ignoring the both of them, then asked, “Still a demon, then?” 

“What kind of a stupid question is that, still a demon, what else am I gonna be, an aardvark?” snapped Crowley, and then immediately regretted it when he saw the angel’s face fall. 

He bounced back though, holding up a glass of whatever it was the bartender had poured, smiling and saying, “Salutaria!” 

They clinked glasses, and Crowley looked away. He’d already received a reprimand this month, and reprimands from Hell… 

There was a reason that demons, rebellious creatures though they were, rarely strayed from Hell’s rule. 

Aziraphale persisted, though. “In Rome long?” 

Crowley pushed back a sigh. “Just nipped in for a quick temptation. You?” 

“I thought I’d try Patronus’s new restaurant,” said Aziraphale. “I heard he does remarkable things to oysters.” 

Crowley frowned slightly, thinking. “I’ve never eaten an oyster.” 

“Oh, well let me tempt you–“ began the angel. Then he paused. “No, that… that’s your job.” 

Crowley realized he had turned his whole body to look at Aziraphale. He hadn’t meant to stop the angel from talking– far from it, actually, now that he thought about it. But Aziraphale’s phrasing had given him an idea. 

Hell couldnt possibly object to Crowley doing some tempting, especially if he was tempting an angel. It would be a wonderful excuse to see him. And so, he let Aziraphale take him to lunch, rambling on about oysters and spices and other things that Crowley couldn’t care less about until Aziraphale brought them up, and again the words bubbled up in his chest, and he forced them down. That was definitely forbidden, no question about it, and Crowley couldn’t take the risk. 

Not yet, anyways. 

### 

The theatre was absolutely deserted. Crowley sauntered up to Aziraphale, hands clasped behind his back, and murmured, “I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here. Blend in among the crowd.” 

“That was the idea,” said Aziraphale. 

The actor up on stage stopped talking, and Crowley paused for a moment, looking around again, before groaning, “This isn’t one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, is it? Ugh, no wonder nobody’s here!” 

“Sh, here he comes!” hissed Aziraphale. 

The playwright stopped in front of the duo and said, “Prithee, gentles, might I request a small favour?” 

As he and Aziraphale spoke, Crowley kept his eyes fixed on the angel. The way he bounced about, the way he smiled, the way he just exuded light and warmth in everything he did… It was intoxicating. 

Then the actor up on stage called, “And what does your friend think?” 

Crowley looked up towards the stage, and out of his peripheral vision, he saw Aziraphale’s smile immediately fall off his face. 

“Oh, he’s not my friend,” said Aziraphale. “I’ve never met him before. We don’t know each other.” 

Crowley forced a smile, making it as snakelike as he could manage. “I think you should get on with the play.” That had hurt. He knew the angel thought it, he knew how reluctant Aziraphale was to even talk to him, let alone call him a friend, but he had rather hoped that after such a long time… after making the Agreement… 

Not that it mattered, he thought as the actor resumed his speech, calling out, “To be or not to be, that is the question.” 

“To be!” cried Aziraphale, the smile returning to his face as Crowley let himself look over at the angel once more. “I mean, not to be!” Aziraphale made eye contact with Crowley, still smiling that bouncy little smile, and Crowley felt as though his chest were about to burst. “C’mon, Hamlet! Buck up!” 

The monologue continued, and Aziraphale returned his gaze to the stage, Crowley following his cue. 

“He’s very good, isn’t he?” asked Aziraphale, still grinning. 

“Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety,” said Crowley, hardly thinking about his words. 

Crowley heard the playwright mutter something, but he ignored it, slowly pacing to Aziraphale’s other side. It almost hurt to stand still for too long– a little bit of the snake left in him, he thought. 

“What do you want?” asked Aziraphale, his voice suddenly cold. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow, swaying a step closer to the angel. “Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly want something?” 

“You are up to no good.” 

“Obviously,” said Crowley. “You’re up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” He tried to inject as much scorn as possible into those last words as he began to slide back, moving back to Aziraphale’s left. 

“Well, no rest for the… well, good,” said Aziraphale. He finally looked back over towards Crowley. “I have to be in Edinburgh, end of the week.” 

“Oh?” Crowley feigned surprise. He knew already, of course. He always knew where the angel was meant to be. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud. 

“Couple of blessings to do, a minor miracle to perform,” continued Aziraphale. “Apparently, I have to ride a horse.” 

Crowley grumbled sympathetically. “Ugh, hard on the buttocks, horses. Major design flaw, if you ask me.” He crossed back over to Aziraphale’s right. This was the important part. “I’m meant to be headed to Edinburgh too, this week. Tempting a clan leader to steal some cattle.” 

Aziraphale frowned. “Doesn’t seem like hard work.” 

Crowley fought back a grin. Perfect. “That’s why I thought…” Aziraphale glanced over at him, a no obviously dangling on his lips, but Crowley pushed on. “Well, bit of a waste of effort, both of us going all the way to Scotland.” 

Aziraphale sighed, his hand clutching at the grapes. “You cannot actually be suggesting… what I infer... you are implying.” 

“Which is?” prompted Crowley. 

“That only one of us goes to Edinburgh, does the blessing and the tempting.” 

“We’ve done it before,” said Crowley, feigning interest in the play. “Dozens of times., now.” He leaned slightly closer to Aziraphale. “The agreement…” 

“Don’t say that,” hissed the angel. 

“Our respective head offices don’t actually care how things get done. They just want to know they can cross if off the list.” 

“But if Hell finds out, they won’t just be angry. They’ll destroy you,” said Aziraphale, his voice almost plaintive. 

Crowley couldn’t let himself hear the desperation, the fear in Aziraphale’s voice as he said that. He couldn’t let himself think his angel cared. If he believed that… 

“Nobody ever has to know,” said Crowley, conjuring up a coin. “Toss you for Edinburgh.” 

Aziraphale sighed, glancing around the room one last time. “Fine. Heads.” 

Crowley tossed the coin, caught it, and flipped it once more. “Tails, I’m afraid. You’re going to Scotland.” He’d be there, too, of course. He couldn’t let Aziraphale do the work he’d actually been sent to Scotland for. Temptation of the physical variety was something Crowley wanted desperately to protect his angel from. He knew other demons enjoyed the physical pleasure, but it never felt quite right for Crowley, at least not with any of the humans he’d done it with. And there had been many– it had unfortunately become sort of Crowley’s speciality. 

Now, if Crowley could tempt Aziraphale to bed... 

No. That was dangerous thinking. And, of course, absurd. There was no way in Heaven or Hell or Earth or anywhere that the angel would ever reciprocate Crowley’s feelings. 

The clan-leader thing was mostly just an excuse to have Aziraphale do something; the last five or six times, Crowley had taken both sides of it. He didn’t want Aziraphale to think he was getting any sort of special treatment. It would do no good to spoil him. 

Almost against his will, Crowley could hear Shakespeare’s voice, so loud it nearly drowned out the poor actor’s. “It’d take a miracle to get anyone to come and see Hamlet.” 

Aziraphale’s face lit up as he looked over at Crowley, his eyes wide, his lips parting slightly, the question unvoiced but obvious on his face. 

Crowley sighed. He supposed a little spoiling couldn’t hurt. “Yes, alright. I’ll do that one. My treat.” 

“Oh, really?” asked Aziraphale, his face breaking out into that gorgeous, bouncy, bubbly smile. 

“I still prefer the funny ones.” Crowley turned and walked away, his hands swinging, hopefully casually, at his sides, forcing down those words again. Aziraphale was right, the arrangement was risky enough. To say that… 

It was all worth it, all these risks, all this biting back words just before they slipped out, just to see Aziraphale’s smile. 

### 

Something was wrong. 

Crowley couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There was something… dangerous. Something happening. Someone was in danger… 

Aziraphale was in danger. 

Without a second thought, Crowley teleported to Aziraphale, landing in the shadows of a prison cell in France, already sprawled seductively on a series of boxes in the corner, an executioner making his way towards the tiny window, Aziraphale standing opposite him, his wrists in chains. 

Crowley froze time, letting Aziraphale move. How had he ended up here? 

“Animals,” muttered the angel. 

It was time to speak up. “Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, angel, only humans do that.” 

“Crowley!” The joy was palpable in Aziraphale’s voice. Joy at being rescued, obviously. Nothing else. The angel turned, his smile falling into a frown as his eyes landed on Crowley. “Oh. Good Lord.” 

“What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening up a bookshop,” said Crowley. 

“Well, I was,” said Aziraphale. “I got peckish.” 

“Peckish?” asked Crowley, unable to contain his disbelief. 

“Well, if you must know, it was the crepes,” said Aziraphale, making his way towards the bench in the middle of the room and sitting down. “Can’t get decent ones anywhere but Paris. And the brioche.” 

Crowley still couldn’t believe it. “So you just popped across the Channel during a revolution because you wanted something to nibble? Dressed like that?” 

“Well, I have standards,” said Aziraphale, his voice almost haughty. Then he sighed, standing back up. “I’d heard they were getting a bit carried away over here, but…” 

“Yeah, this is not getting carried away,” said Crowley. “This is cutting off lots of people’s heads very efficiently with a big head-cutting machine. Why didn’t you just perform another miracle and go home?” 

“I was reprimanded last month,” said Aziraphale with a sigh. “They said I’d performed too many frivolous miracles. Got a strongly worded note from Gabriel.” 

“Well,you’re lucky I was in the area,” Crowley drawled, doing his damndest to stay casual. The stupid angel really was lucky. Crowley still had no idea how he’d known something was the matter. Not that it was the first time it’d happened, but the repeat incidents really only served to further confuse Crowley. 

“I suppose I am,” said Aziraphale, his voice turning dour. “Why are you here?” 

“My lot sent me a commendation for outstanding job performance,” said Crowley. It wasn’t a lie, they had, but he hadn’t needed to go to France to receive it. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he rose to his feet, horror evident in his gaze. “So this is all your demonic work!” 

“No!” protested Crowley. He couldn’t have the angel mad at him. He couldn’t. “The humans thought it up themselves! Nothing to do with me.” 

Aziraphale just stared at him. Crowley couldn’t tell whether he believed him or not. 

He wasn’t lying. He’d not wanted to go anywhere near the French Revolution. It wasn’t so bad as the Inquisition, but… 

To stem the flow of thoughts threatening to break through his demeanor, Crowley raised his hand and snapped, and the chains around Aziraphale’s wrists fell to the ground. 

“Well, i suppose I should say thank you,” said Aziraphale. “For the, uh, rescue.” 

“Don’t say that,” said Crowley, finally rising to his feet and closing most of the distance between himself and Aziraphale. “If my people hear I rescued an angel, I’ll be the one in trouble, and my lot do not send rude notes.” He bit back a shudder. It had been a couple centuries since he’d had any sort of reprimand, and Crowley intended to keep it that way. Hell was not very friendly. 

“Well, anyway, I’m very grateful,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley felt the fear in his chest melt away as the angel smiled at him. “What if I buy you lunch?” 

“Looking like that?” asked Crowley, frowning. He really didn’t want to end up here again in ten minutes because of Aziraphale’s “standards.” 

Aziraphale sighed and glanced around the room, then waved his hand up and down, switching his outfit for that of the executioner’s. 

Frivolous miracles? thought Crowley. Of course, the angel couldn’t be lying. He was an angel, they didn’t lie, and the only other reason for him not to miracle himself out of trouble was if he wanted Crowley to come and rescue him, and that was patently absurd. 

He fought back the words, fought back the thought. Obviously, Aziraphale didn’t want to see him. Didn’t care about him, at least not any more than the angel cared about everything else on Earth. Sometimes he seemed to care so, so much about everything, it was part of what Crowley lo– 

No. Crowley shoved that thought back. He couldn’t think that. Couldn’t feel it. 

“Well, barely counts as a miracle, really,” said Aziraphale, moving to stand beside Crowley. Crowley snapped, unfreezing time, and the two guards moved into the room, grabbing the sputtering executioner and dragging him away. 

“Dressed like that, he’s asking for trouble,” said Crowley, fighting back a grin at the reproachful look Aziraphale shot him. “What’s for lunch?” 

“What would you say to some crepes?” asked Aziraphale, an almost devious smile spreading across his face. 

### 

Something was wrong, again, and this time Crowley knew exactly what it was. 

He’d been keeping a closer eye on Aziraphale during the war– Crowley knew how much his angel hated the Nazis, hated them more than he’d ever seen Aziraphale hate something, and he knew how gullible Aziraphale was. Those two things in combination made for a very bad mixture– a mixture that led to a meeting in a church, of all places, in the middle of the night, in 1941. 

A mixture that led to Crowley, dancing his way up the aisle, hissing at the consecrated ground under his feet, at the way it burned through his shoes, lighting his leg on fire, the pain spreading upwards the longer he kept his foot in place. 

“Sorry, consecrated ground,” gasped Crowley, finally meeting up with Aziraphale, ignoring the look of concern in the angel’s eyes. “Oh! It’s like… being at the beach in bare feet!” 

“What’re you doing here?” hissed Aziraphale, taking a step closer. 

“Stopping you getting into trouble,” said Crowley. 

“Oh, I should’ve known,” said Aziraphale, glancing back at the three humans. “These people are working for you.” 

Crowley couldn’t believe his angel still thought so low of him. “Know, they’re a bunch of half-witted… Nazi spies, running around London, blackmailing and murdering people. I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.” He stifled a gasp, pushing himself up off the pew and dancing in a little circle, his feet aching. 

“Mister Anthony J. Crowley,” said one of the spies, the confusion on his face belying the calm of his voice. “Your fame precedes you.” 

“Anthony?” asked Aziraphale, shooting Crowley a small frown. 

“You don’t like it?” asked Crowley, ready to change it then and there. 

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” said Aziraphale. “I’ll get used to it.” 

Another one of the Nazis– the woman– said something. Crowley didn’t really hear her. It’s not like it mattered. 

“What’s the J stand for?” asked Aziraphale. 

Crowley shrugged, very definitely not thinking of how he got exceedingly drunk about twenty years ago and made his middle name Janthony. He was a respectable demon. He would never do such a thing. “Just a J, really.” 

Something caught his eye, over towards the alter. Holy water. 

“Look at that!” he cried out. “A whole font full of holy water. It doesn’t even have guards!” 

“Enough babbling, kill them both,” said one of the Nazis. 

“Ah–“ said Crowley, stopping the Nazis in their tracks– “in about a minute, a German bomber will drop a bomb that will land right here. If you run away, very fast, you might not die. You won’t enjoy dying. Definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.” 

“You expect us to believe that? The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.” It was the English-sounding man, Crowley couldn’t remember his name. 

“Yes,” said Crowley, leaning up against a pew. “It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes.” He took a couple steps back, throwing his arms wide. “You’re all wasting your valuable running-away time.” Then he looked over at Aziraphale, begging his incredibly intelligent, horribly stupid angel to understand him. “And, if in thirty seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.” 

“A… a real miracle,” said Aziraphale. Crowley saw understanding in his eyes. At least, he hoped he did. Go– Sa– Somebody, he hoped he did. 

“Kill them, they are very irritating,” said the third Nazi, the one with the German accent. 

Crowley pointed to the sky, stilling for just a moment. 

Overhead, bombs began to drop, whistling through the air, hitting buildings, exploding in the distance, growing closer and closer. 

A bomb sailed downwards, aimed directly for the church, and Crowley realised with a jolt that one of the Nazis was gripping the bag of books. The books Aziraphale had so stupidly risked his life for. 

It was worth it. Crowley threw a last-minute miracle their way, hoping against all hope that the angel had actually understood him.

When the dust cleared, it revealed Crowley and Aziraphale, both of them alive and well. 

Crowley could hear screaming in the distance as he pulled his glasses off and wiped the soot and dust from them. 

“That was very kind of you,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley looked over at him. He’d taken off his hat, let his curls out. They looked so very soft... 

“Shut up,” snarled Crowley, putting his glasses back on. 

“Well, it was,” said Aziraphale. “No paperwork, for a start.” 

Then it seemed to hit him. “Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh, they’ll all be blown to–“ 

As Aziraphale spoke, Crowley walked over to the Nazis’ dead bodies and pulled the satchel free of the one’s grip with a grunt. Then he handed it over to Aziraphale, fighting back a smile. “Little demonic miracle of my own.” 

The way Aziraphale was looking at him… it felt like looking into the sun. 

Love. It was love that Crowley could see, practically pouring out of the angel’s face. 

He looked away. The words were bubbling up, unbidden, unwanted. He couldn’t say it. He could never say it. 

Especially not if Aziraphale felt the same. If Aziraphale felt the same, that meant that he might say it back. And if he said it back… 

Crowley wasn’t the only one in danger, if Aziraphale lo– liked him, as well. An angel could fall for lesser transgressions than loving a demon. And if he was the reason Aziraphale fell… he didn’t think he could handle it. No, he knew he couldn’t handle it. 

Instead, he asked, chipper as he could manage, “Lift home?” 

He didn’t wait for a response, walking towards his new Bentley, feeling the angel’s eyes boring into his back. 

He’d have to be careful. He could never, ever say it. No matter what. 

### 

One thing Crowley had not been expecting to find when he sat down in his car was Aziraphale, sitting in his passenger seat. 

“What’re you doing here?” he managed to force out, staring at the angel, at his tartan bow tie and his fidgeting hands and the way he glanced about, like he was afraid. 

“I needed a word with you,” said Aziraphale. His voice was soft, nervous, insistent. 

“What?” asked Crowley. 

“I work in SoHo, I hear things,” said Aziraphale, staring resolutely out the windshield. “I hear you’re setting up a... caper. To rob a church.” He turned slightly, his eyes finally meeting Crowley’s. “Crowley, it’s too dangerous. Holy water won’t just kill your body, it’ll destroy you completely.” 

“You told me what you think,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes slightly. “A hundred and five years ago.” 

“And I haven’t changed my mind,” said Aziraphale. “But I can’t have you risking your life. Not even for something dangerous. So…” He pulled out a flask. A tartan flask, with a little mug on top. “You can call off the robbery.” Aziraphale glanced up at Crowley’s face, then back down at the mug. “Don’t go unscrewing the cap.” 

Crowley fought to keep his face straight as he reached out and took the mug gingerly. Tartan. Every time he looked at it, he’d think of the angel. 

He wondered if that was intentional. 

“It’s the real thing?” he asked. 

“The holiest,” said Aziraphale. 

“After everything you said?” 

Aziraphale nodded, his gaze fixed out the windshield again. 

“Should I say thank you?” asked Crowley. 

Aziraphale’s eyes lighted on his for the briefest second, sparking a strange, burning feeling in Crowley’s chest, and then he looked away again, his gaze resolute. “Better not.” 

“Can I… drop you anywhere?” asked Crowley, desperate to repay his friend. To thank him, somehow. It was true; Hell didn’t send rude notes. They hadn’t reprimanded him in almost a thousand years. He knew, if they found out what he’d been doing in that time… 

“No, thank you,” said Aziraphale. 

Crowley felt the frown take his mouth before he could stop it. 

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed,” said Aziraphale with a tiny, forced-looking smile. “Perhaps one day we could… go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.” 

“I’ll give you a lift,” said Crowley. “Anywhere you like.” He still couldn’t say those words, he couldn’t risk it, even with the holy water in his grip. But maybe, somehow, if his angel was willing to do this for him, he could show Aziraphale… 

Aziraphale paused for a brief moment, an inscrutable expression on his face. 

Then he spoke. “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” 

Aziraphale climbed up out of the car, swinging the door shut behind him and walking away, and Crowley stared down at the flask in his hands. He couldn’t cry. He couldn’t cry. He was a demon, for fuck’s sake, he didn’t cry! Not even after nearly six thousand years. He had never cried. Not once. 

He ran his fingers over the tartan pattern, so quintessentially Aziraphale, as a tear rolled, unbidden, down his cheek. 

### 

Crowley could still taste the alcohol and the stink of what would’ve been a nasty hangover, and based on the way Aziraphale’s mouth was moving, so could he. Even sober, he hardly knew what he was going on about with the whales and the bouillabaisse and the fucking bananas, but he thought Aziraphale had gotten his larger point. 

Then Aziraphale started talking. “Even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t. I can’t interfere with the Divine Plan.” 

“Well, what about diabolical plans?” asked Crowley, turning to a last, desperate hope. “I mean, you can’t be certain that thwarting me isn’t part of the Divine Plan, too. I mean, you’re supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren’t you?” 

“Well…” Crowley could positively see how hard Aziraphale was thinking, and it was incredibly adorable. 

“Ya see a wile, ya thwart, am I right?” Crowley asked. 

Aziraphale shrugged. “I... Broadly. I usually encourage humans to do the actual–“ 

Crowley pressed on. “Now, the Antichrist has been born. But it’s the upbringing, that’s important, the influences. The evil influences, that’s all going to be me. It would be too bad if someone made sure that I failed.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “If you put it that way… Heaven couldn’t actually object if I was thwarting you.” 

Crowley shook his head ever so slightly. “No. Be a real feather in your wing.” 

Aziraphale stared for just a moment longer, and Crowley could see the calculation of the ages whirring behind those blue eyes. 

Then the angel stuck out his hand, and Crowley smiled, reaching out to shake it. 

He leaned back, letting the smile rise up in him, doing a very good job of hiding the way his whole body had leaned into that small little handshake. “We’d be godfathers, sort of. Overseeing his upbringing. We do it right, he won’t be evil. Or good. He’ll just be normal.” 

“It might work,” said Aziraphale, a smile spreading across his face, that smile that Crowley liked so much to look at. 

The angel let out a small chuckle. “Godfathers. Well, I’ll be damned.” 

Crowley smiled. “It’s not that bad, when you get used to it.” 

The smile fell instantly off of Aziraphale’s face, and he stared at Crowley, concern in his eyes. 

It was that, that dammed concern, that made Crowley stand up to leave. He couldn’t look at that, at the angel caring about him. Being worried for him. Being concerned. 

The words had been threatening to slip all evening, and it had taken all of his extraordinarily diminished self-control to avoid saying them while drunk– it had left the rest of him free to babble on about bananas and mountains and music and whales. But now, with those blue eyes piercing into whatever soul he had left, Crowley couldn’t take it. He couldn’t stand it. 

He turned to go. “I’ve got to get my disguise ready; you should, too. I suppose I’ll be seeing you… tomorrow evening? Once we’ve found our way in.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Aziraphale, his voice still heavy with concern. 

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to say good night. If he did, the words would slip out. 

Instead, he left Aziraphale alone in the bookshop, driving back to his flat to sleep off the headache he’d given himself. 

### 

Crowley was drunk. Drunk and babbling. Babbling about falling, about questions. He hadn’t wanted to Fall, it was true. He’d never really fit in downstairs. He’d just wanted– 

Thunder crashed overhead, and his eyes landed on something. Something that hadn’t been there before. 

It was his angel, sitting in front of him. 

“Aziraphale…” he gasped, and the angel’s eyes landed on him. 

“Are you here?” asked Crowley, lifting up his glasses to squint at the angel. He was wavering oddly, and Crowley could see through him. 

“Good question, not certain, never done this before,” said Aziraphale. His eyes landed on Crowley’s. “Can you hear me?” 

“Of course I can hear you,” said Crowley, letting his glasses fall back onto his face. 

“Afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things,” said Aziraphale. “Did you go to Alpha Centauri?” 

“Nah,” said Crowley, shrugging, fighting back tears. He’s been doing a lot of crying in the past decades, and he was decidedly not a fan. “Changed my mind. Stuff happened.” All his efforts not to cry collapsed in one fell swoop. “I lost my best friend.” 

The words were dangling on his tongue, closer to being spoken than they ever had been before, and he thought… he thought the angel could tell. 

But all Aziraphale said was, “I’m so sorry to hear it.” 

Crowley shrugged, forcing his face to regain some control of itself. 

“Listen,” said Aziraphale, “back in my bookshop, there’s a book I need you to get.” 

“Ohh,” muttered Crowley, “look, your bookshop isn’t there anymore.” 

“Oh?” Aziraphale frowned. 

“I’m really sorry, it burned down.” 

“All of it?” Aziraphale’s face was confused, lost. Like Crowley had been, without his angel. 

“Y- yeah,” Crowley stammered. “What– what was the book?” 

“The one the young lady with the bicycle left behind,” said Aziraphale, slowly, and Crowley’s heart leapt. “The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of–“ 

“Agnes Nutter! Yes, I took it!” Crowley shouted, picking the book up, showing it off. 

“You have it?” exclaimed Aziraphale. 

“Look! Souvenir!” 

“Look inside,” said Aziraphale. “I made notes. It’s all in there. The boy’s name, address. All of it. I worked it all out.” 

His bloody clever angel. Of course he’d figured it out. Crowley pulled out a map and began unfolding it. “Look, wherever you are, I’ll come to you. Where are you?” 

“I-I-I’m not really anywhere, yet. I’ve been discorporated,” said Aziraphale. 

“Oh.” That was what had happened. 

“Listen, you need to get to Tadfield Air Base.” 

“Why?” 

“World ending.” Crowley made a noise at that, but Aziraphale continued. “That’s where it’s all gonna happen. Quite soon, now. I’ll head there, too. I just need to find a receptive body. Harder than you’d think.” 

Crowley frowned. “I’m not going to go there.” 

Aziraphale didn’t seem to have heard him. “I do need to find a body…” He chuckled slightly. “Pity I can’t inhabit yours.” 

Crowley barely managed to stop himself from saying yes to that– a small sound did escape him. 

“Angel,” said Aziraphale. “Demon. Probably explode.” 

“Bleh,” Crowley muttered. He was probably right. 

“So I’ll meet you at Tadfield,” said Aziraphale. “But we’re both going to have to get a bit of a wiggle on.” 

“What?” asked Crowley, looking up from his map. 

“Tadfield,” said Aziraphale. “Air base!” 

“Yeah, I heard that, it was the ‘wiggle on’,” Crowley said. 

It was too late. Aziraphale had vanished, once again. 

Crowley looked down at the book clutched in his hands, at the map sitting atop it. 

He had one chance left to see his angel, discorporated though he may be, and nothing in Heaven, Hell, or Earth could bloody well stop him. 

###

They had survived. Aziraphale had been right about how Heaven and Hell would try to kill them, and Crowley had been right that a body swap would have been just out-there enough to befuddle everyone. They had survived, Crowley had survived Aziraphale’s execution, and now they were back at the bookshop, pulling out a bottle of some wine or another– frankly, it was Aziraphale who cared so much about which particular alcohol they were drinking, Crowley didn’t care so long as it got him drunk– and settling down for another evening. Crowley was ready to forget the events of the day, forget the way the stupid bloody angels had looked at him, at Aziraphale, with such disdain, such hatred, wash their gazes away with… it looked like some sort of Chardonnay, but he wasn’t sure… when Aziraphale spoke. 

“The demons really were quite brutal during your trial,” said Aziraphale, sitting down on the couch beside Crowley, making the demon’s heart leap in his chest. He’d never done that before. He always kept his distance, sat over in the chair across the room. “It seemed like the whole of Hell was in attendance. You didn’t even have a defence! There were two demons there to make sure that they ‘didn’t forget anything’. It was awful, Crowley, all of them were just so, so horrible to you– well, me, but they thought I was you. I’m… I’m so sorry you had to put up with that for so long.” 

Crowley couldn’t think. Aziraphale was worried about him? Sorry for him? It was Hell, he was a demon, that was the law of the land down there. It had never really bothered him, the knowledge that the other demons despised him. They were demons, after all, they were meant to despise everything. 

“I do hope my trial was a tad more comfortable for you,” said Aziraphale, sighing slightly and leaning back onto the cushions. “Who played the defence? I’m sure they got someone stupid to do it, but I still would rather like to know.” 

Crowley’s heart dropped. How to tell him… “Angel… you didn’t… you didn’t get a trial. You… they just tried to execute you. Gabriel and Uriel and Sandalphon…” HIs chest squeezed up, suddenly, and he had to bite back tears. 

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide. “Oh. I… I suppose… well, I had assumed…” 

“That Heaven were the good guys,” said Crowley, nodding, finally picking up the wineglass Aziraphale had poured for him with a shaking hand. “I know, angel. You never listened when I told you your side wasn’t all that different from mine.” 

Aziraphale sighed, his hand reaching over to grab Crowley’s and give it a small squeeze, and Crowley felt his heart leap up and lodge somewhere in his throat. “Well, it doesn’t matter much anymore. We’re on our side, now.” He smiled, that brilliant, bubbly, radiant smile that Crowley liked so much. Loved so much. “And we’ve got the rest of eternity here.” 

Crowley couldn’t take it anymore. He leapt to his feet, nearly dropping the wineglass in his haste to set it down, his hand sliding out of Aziraphale’s grip. “I can’t do this, angel. I can’t do this anymore.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, his mouth open slightly. “Oh, no, Crowley, I’m so sorry–“ 

Crowley couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. Six thousand years of holding back, and now, they were safe. They were together. They were on their own side, far away from Heaven and Hell, and they had eternity left, and Crowley didn’t care anymore what happened if he finally said what he’d wanted to for six thousand bloody years, he knew his entire body would burst if he didn’t get it out. “I love you, Aziraphale. I love you, I’ve always loved you, for six thousand years I’ve been in love with you, and I was always so afraid to say anything, I didn’t want to scare you off and I didn’t want to hurt you, I never wanted to hurt you, but I love you, I’ve stopped myself from saying it for six thousand years and now I just– I can’t hold back anymore, angel, I love y– ngk!” 

His babbling was cut short by the feeling of hands on his jacket and a mouth– Aziraphale’s mouth– pressing up suddenly against his. Crowley entire brain and body short-circuited. Aziraphale was kissing him. His angel was kissing him. 

After a long second, Aziraphale pulled back, slightly breathless, his cheeks pink, his eyes wide. “I love you, Crowley. I… I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry that I kept you waiting for so long. I didn’t… I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe.” He chuckled slightly. “Looks like that was all for nothing.” 

Crowley managed to force his mouth to form words, despite the fact that all he wanted to do was kiss Aziraphale again. “You… also… you were protecting me?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “You were absolutely right, I saw it today, first-hand, Hell doesn’t just send rude notes, and I didn’t… I never… I can’t lose you, Crowley. If I had… I don’t think I would’ve been able to go on, without you. If anything had happened. If they had ever found out.” 

Crowley blinked, his mouth dry, his eyes dangerously damp again. 

Aziraphale pressed on. “I love you, Crowley, I love you more than any living thing has ever loved another, and I’ve loved you for so, so long. I’m so very sorry it took me so long to realise it, and I’m sorry… I’m sorry for pushing you away. For saying that you go too fast. I’m sorry for hurting you, all the times that I did.” 

It was no use fighting back the tears, Crowley decided, as they pooled up in the corners of his eyes, spilling over slowly. 

Aziraphale reached up and pulled Crowley’s glasses off his face, tossing them somewhere. “I love you, Crowley.” 

“I love you, Angel,” said Crowley, feeling a smile– a real one, the most real one he thought he’d ever felt– spreading across his face again. 

Aziraphale reached up, his hand tangling in Crowley’s hair, pulling him down into another kiss, and Crowley was only too happy to oblige, letting his tongue slip in between Aziraphale’s lips, exploring the other’s mouth, relishing in the small gasp he got in response. 

Then he pulled back, six thousand years of fear too much to overcome so quickly. “Am I going too fast, angel?” 

Aziraphale looked up at him, something dark in those blue eyes. Lust. Crowley had seen it countless times, often directed at him, but seeing it in his angel’s face, seeing the way those eyes darted over his entire face, it made Crowley feel something he’d never felt before, not outside of his wildest dreams. 

“My dear, we’re not going nearly fast enough,” breathed Aziraphale. 

That was all Crowley needed. Temptation and sex were his specialities, and for Go– Sa– Somebody’s sake, he was going to use his skills to his full advantage today, if that was really what Aziraphale wanted. 

They kissed again, hungrier that time, and Crowley pulled his angel to bed. Tonight, they would make up for six thousand years of waiting. Tonight, they would finally make things right. 

And Crowley could tell his angel he loved him until the end of time.


	2. 8 times Aziraphale didn’t kiss Crowley, and 1 time he did

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale’s point of view on some things that happened last time, and some events I’d skipped over. (Tbh I could write the thoughts behind every interaction these two have but I’m limiting myself here lol)

Aziraphale started slightly at the demon’s appearance, transforming slowly from a massive snake to a surprisingly attractive human-shaped creature. The only signs that he wasn’t human were the small snake mark by his ear, and the wings extending from his back.

And his eyes. When Aziraphale glanced over to the side, he could see the demon’s eyes, a stunning yellowish shade.

The demon said something.

Aziraphale chuckled slightly, then frowned. “Sorry, what was that?” He didn’t know why he was talking to the demon. Why he wasn’t smiting him on the spot. There was just something in his face…

“I said, well, that when down like a lead balloon,” said the demon, his voice rather deeper than Aziraphale had expected; he wasn’t sure why.

Aziraphale nodded. He had no bloody clue what a “lead balloon” was. “Yes, yes, it did, rather.”

“Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me,” said the demon.

Aziraphale frowned, looking towards him.

“First offence and everything,” said the demon. His brow furrowed. Aziraphale fought to keep his eyes away, looking forwards, towards where the humans had gone.

The demon was speaking again. “I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Well, it must be bad…” He paused. He didn’t know the demon’s name.

“Crawley,” the demon supplied, sounding almost surprised.

“Crawley,” Aziraphale repeated, nodding slightly. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.”

“Oh, they just said ‘Get up there and make some trouble,’” said Crawley. He was swaying slightly, from side to side, always moving. Aziraphale felt his own hands start to flutter, almost against his will, and he pressed them still up against his robe.

“Well, obviously, you’re a demon,” said Aziraphale, injecting as much venom into his voice as he could manage on the last word. It came out positively pitiful. “That’s what you do.”

“Not very subtle of the Almighty, thought,” said Crawley. It was like he hadn’t heard Aziraphale. “Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a ‘don’t touch’ sign. I mean, why not put it on the top of a high mountain? Or on the moon?”

Aziraphale frowned, his lips pursed. Crawley had a point. He had to admit that.

“Makes you wonder what God’s really planning,” said Crawley, his voice almost… suggestive.

Aziraphale fought back a sigh. “Best not to speculate. It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand.” He paused, a strange urge striking him. An urge to impress. He’d never really felt that before. “It’s ineffable.”

He glanced back over at the demon, fighting back the smile rising on his lips.

“The Great Plan’s ineffable?” asked Crawley, pausing in his swaying for the briefest moment.

“Exactly,” said Aziraphale. He was an angel, it was his job to enlighten… whomever he came upon. This demon would have to do. “It is beyond understanding, and incapable of being put into words.”

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” asked the demon.

Aziraphale froze, chancing a glance over, squeezing his hands together to keep them still. All his fidgeting always did get him yelled at, mostly by Gabriel, and you definitely didn’t want Gabriel cross with you. Then again, this whole conversation could get him yelled at worse than fidgeting ever did.

The demon’s eyes were roving over Aziraphale’s body, like he was searching for something. For the stupid sword.

“You did, it was flaming like anything, what happened to it?” asked Crawley.

“Uhhm…” Aziraphale shook his head slightly.

“Lost it already, have you?” asked Crawley, the amusement plain in his voice. Great. Now the demon thought Aziraphale was an idiot. Aziraphale couldn’t figure out why that bothered him so much.

“Gave it away,” Aziraphale muttered. If Heaven heard…

“You what?” The demon sounded utterly flabbergasted.

“I gave it away!” said Aziraphale, turning towards him finally, meeting startlingly amber eyes. “There are vicious animals out there. It’s going to be cold out there, and she’s expecting already! So I said, here you go, flaming sword, don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.”

Crawley was smiling, an oddly gentle smile, and Aziraphale tore his eyes away from Crawley’s lips. Why they were lingering there, he couldn’t say.

Or rather, he didn’t want to.

“I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing,” said Aziraphale, more to distract himself than anything else.

“Ohh, you’re an angel, I don’t think you can do the wrong thing,” said Crawley, his voice as gentle as his smile, as kind.

Aziraphale felt his stomach leap up into his throat, and he was struck by a sudden urge to reach out for the demon, gather him up in his arms, hold him. Kiss him.

That would never do.

“Oh, oh, thank you– oh, thank you. It’s been bothering me,” he stammered, fighting back a smile, again squeezing his hands together to hold them still, fighting the way his whole body turned towards Crawley, fighting against every human instinct rising in him. It was wrong. This was wrong. He shouldn’t have even been having this conversation. And if he did something stupid now, something even stupider than giving away his sword, well… there was a reason Crawley’s eyes were yellow, a reason his wings were black.

Aziraphale turned his gaze back to the humans. They were fighting a lion– or, rather, Adam was fighting a lion. Eve was clutching her stomach and watching.

“Y’know, I’ve been worrying, too,” said Crawley, his voice shifting out of that painfully kind tone. “What if I did the right thing with the whole ‘eat the apple’ business? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing.”

Aziraphale didn’t look away, even as Adam swung at the lion once again, striking it this time.

“Be funny if we both got it wrong, eh?”

Aziraphale chanced a glance over towards the demon. Crawley was staring at him, a small smile playing around the corners of his lips, swaying ever so slightly.

“If I did the good thing and you did the bad one?” Crawley chuckled, his grin widening, and the sight made Aziraphale feel light as a balloon (so that’s what they were, poor timing for that revelation), and he grinned as well, even laughed.

Then he registered exactly what Crawley had said. “No! It wouldn’t be funny at all!”

The demon shrugged slightly.

Aziraphale looked away again, looked at the humans, at the sky. The rain was about to begin.

Crawley scooted slightly closer to Aziraphale, and this time Aziraphale let his instinct win, let himself raise up his wing to shield the demon from the rain. H wasn’t sure what made him do it, why it felt so right. But he figured that this particular transgression was the least of them all today.

They kept talking for hours, throughout the night, still watching the humans. Or, well, Aziraphale watched the humans, and he could tell that Crawley was watching him. He knew, if he looked over too often, or too long, those instincts would rise up again, and he wasn’t sure how long he could keep them at bay. It wasn’t right. Angels weren’t supposed to kiss anyone, let alone demons. They were enemies, hereditary enemies! He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

But talking, laughing, even a little bit of protecting… that might have been allowed.

###

Aziraphale was supervising the train of animals being led onto Noah’s ark. Not that he could say so, not to any of the humans surrounding him, but as the angel assigned to watch over Earth, he had some duties that simply couldn’t be disclosed.

Aziraphale heard a voice, to his left. A strikingly familiar voice, though he’d only heard it exactly twice since that day on the wall, and neither time had it been directed at him.

“Hello, Aziraphale!” said Crawley, sidling up to him. Wearing robes of pure black, with that long, curly, red hair and those yellow eyes, the colour now restricted to within the confines of a normal human iris.

“Crawley,” said Aziraphale, turning his gaze back to the animals, feeling a strange heat rising up in his neck, threatening to spill out onto his face.

“So, giving the mortals a flaming sword. How’d that work out for you?” asked Crawley.

Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself from glancing over. Crawley was swaying again. Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder if he did it on purpose, all the swaying, like he was trying to drive him mad.

“The Almighty has never actually mentioned it again,” said Aziraphale, glancing around now at the surrounding humans. He couldn’t look at Crawley.

“Probably a good thing,” said Crawley. “What’s all this about? Build a big boat and fill it with a travelling zoo?”

Aziraphale shouldn’t tell him. He leaned in closer to whisper, finally letting himself look, his eyes focused on Crawley’s face. That might be easier. “From what I hear, God’s a bit tetchy. Wiping out the human race.” He gestured upwards. “Big storm.”

Crawley looked around, confusion clouding his face. It was a mistake to look at his face. “All of them?”

“Just the locals,” said Aziraphale, feeling his hands moving and forcing them still again. “I don’t believe the Almighty’s upset with the Chinese. Or the Native Americans. Or the Australians.”

“Yet,” said Crawley.

“And God’s not actually going to wipe out all the locals,” said Aziraphale. He couldn’t say why he was still having this discussion. Someone foolish enough to question the Almighty’s plan– “I mean, Noah, up there, his family, his sons, their wives, they’re all going to be fine.” He chuckled slightly, trying to lighten the mood.

Crawley didn’t fall for it. “But they’re drowning everybody else.”

When he put it that way… Aziraphale nodded, slowly, biting his lips. Why was he still talking to this demon? Making him question God’s plan! It was absurd.

Crowley looked around at the humans, then whipped his head back to Aziraphale, his hair flying. “Not the kids, you can’t kill kids.”

Aziraphale nodded again, still biting his lips. He had thought it was a terrible idea. If a demon, of all creatures, agreed… “Mhm.”

Crowley looked away again, his brow furrowed, his mouth agape. “Well, that’s more the kind of thing you’d expect my lot to do.”

Aziraphale knew he was right. He was bloody right. This couldn’t possibly be holy, be righteous. If he could just go talk to Heaven, to explain–

No. That was absurd. And besides, there was a silver lining.

Aziraphale had to start talking again, justify it. “Yes, but… when it’s all done, the Almighty’s going to put up a new thing, called a “rain bow”, as a promise not to… drown everyone again.”

“How kind,” said Crawley, seeming to roll his entire body along with his eyes.

“You can’t judge the Almighty,” said Aziraphale. “God’s plans are–“

“Are you going to say ineffable?” Crawley sounded annoyed. Annoyed with Aziraphale?

Aziraphale bit his lips again. Best not to talk. He’d already buggered this all up, he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, for Heaven’s sake, he wasn’t supposed to talk to Crawley at all! “Possibly.”

Near the front of the line, one of the unicorns pulled away from its handler, whinnying, and galloped off.

“Oi, Shem!” shouted Crawley, pointing. “That unicorn’s going to make a run for it! Oh, it’s too late. It’s too late!”

Aziraphale glanced around. The clouds were thickening, and the wind was beginning to pick up. It was about to start.

“Ah well, you’ve still got one of ‘em,” said Crawley. Aziraphale looked over to see him settling back into his gentle swaying.

The rain began, thunder crashing overhead, and Crawley looked up. Aziraphale let his gaze wander back over to the demon. If he wasn’t watching when Aziraphale looked…

All these humans were doomed. It wouldn’t matter. No one would remember. No one would know.

Before Aziraphale could do anything stupid, Crawley started walking. Just turned and walked away, slinking through the crowd.

Aziraphale hurried after him, against his better judgement. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to save some of these kids,” hissed Crawley. “Set up a little play area over here, get most of them making mud cakes or whatever, and then take them off to China or somewhere. You said God’s not angry with that lot?”

“No,” said Aziraphale, and a small fence popped up, the gate ajar, some wagons inside, a goat or two, as Crawley stopped walking and turned to the children. The faint haze of a temptation settled over the area.

“Crawley, you can’t!” hissed Aziraphale, taking a step forwards. “God has said–“

“I’m a demon, my entire job is to go against what God wants,” snapped Crawley. The kids began to filter in as the rain poured harder, some of them dragging their parents with them, most of them alone, plopping down in the growing mud, starting to play. “And if God wants to kill these children, obviously they’ve done something awful, and the best thing for me to do for Hell is to save all their lives.”

Aziraphale sighed. He wanted, more than anything, to help.

Well. Not more than anything. What he wanted more than anything was to take Crawley’s face, soaked with rain, his hair sticking to his cheeks, and pull him in close and kiss him, for saving the children, for caring about the humans, in a way that no one in Heaven seemed to be able to.

No one except for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale sighed, throwing his hands up in the air, caution tossed to the wind. “Fine. Fine! I’ll help. You draw the children, I’ll start taking them away. I won’t tell you where they’re going, though, so you can’t follow them.”

“Thwarting me?” asked Crawley, a smile on his face, a small, sly grin, even as the rainwater began to rise, pooling up to their ankles, brushing up against the bottoms of their robes.

“Something like that,” Aziraphale muttered, kneeling down beside two of the littler ones.

Between the two of them, they managed to save round about twenty-five of them, and a few sets of parents, as well. It was against God’s will, against Her plan. But it meant Aziraphale could spend a few moments with Crawley, working together, and for some reason, in Aziraphale’s head, that was all that seemed to matter.

###

They were standing in the Globe theatre, Aziraphale clutching a bunch of grapes like a lifeline, Crowley standing beside him, hands clasped behind his back, not that Aziraphale was paying any sort of attention. Aziraphale was trying to encourage the actor up on the stage, a young lad playing Hamlet. It was a good play, one of Aziraphale’s favourites, and he really thought it would have caught on by now.

Then the actor asked, “And what does your friend think?”

Aziraphale froze. He was talking about Crowley. “Oh, he’s not my friend. We’ve never met before. We don’t know each other.”

“I think you should get on the play,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale could hear the venomous, snake-like smile in his voice. He was angry. Upset. Aziraphale didn’t know why, couldn’t fathom.

“Yes, Burbage. Please,” said Shakespeare, gesturing to the actor. “From the top.”

The actor began again. “To be, or not to be; that is the question.”

“To be!” shouted Aziraphale, more than happy to oblige Shakespeare’s request. “I mean, not to be! C’mon, Hamlet! Buck up!” He glanced over at Crowley, then looked quickly away.

The demon was staring at him, one of those small, soft smiles on his face, and Aziraphale couldn’t look at him for more than a second at a time. He couldn’t. If he did, that feeling would rise up in him again, that urge to drop his useless grapes and grab Crowley’s face instead, to tangle his fingers in that gorgeous red hair and finally bring him close, kiss him–

He couldn’t think about that. It was absolutely forbidden, no question about it. Instead, Aziraphale returned his focus to the play. “He’s very good.”

“Age does not wither, nor custom stale, his infinite variety,” said Crowley.

There was a brief silence between the two of them, and Aziraphale felt more than saw Crowley moving behind him, slinking slowly to his other side.

“What do you want?” asked Aziraphale.

“Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly want something?” He could feel Crowley’s gaze, even through those sunglasses.

“You are up to no good,” said Aziraphale.

“Obviously,” said Crowley. “You’re up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” His voice sounded almost mocking.

Aziraphale frowned. “No rest for the… well, good.” He met Crowley’s gaze as he returned to Aziraphale’s left. “I have to be in Edinburgh, end of the week.”

Crowley was staring at him, face blank, impassable. Aziraphale couldn’t read him. “Oh.”

“A couple of blessings to do. A minor miracle to perform.” He finally looked over at Crowley, wincing slightly in preemptive pain. “Apparently, I have to ride a horse.”

“Ugh,” groaned Crowley. “Hard on the buttocks, horses. Major design flaw, if you ask me.” He started moving again. “I’m meant to be heading to Edinburgh, too, this week. Tempting a clan leader to steal some cattle.”

Aziraphale stole another glance at the demon. “Doesn’t sound like hard work.”

There was another brief silence.

“That’s why I thought we should…” began Crowley.

Aziraphale looked back over, a flare of panic in his chest. Don’t tempt me, Crowley. Don’t ask me to do this. I won’t be able to say no. Not to you.

Crowley shrugged. “Well, bit of a waste of effort, both of us going all the way to Scotland.”

“You cannot actually be suggesting… what I infer… you’re implying.” He had to fight back against it, even if this effort was doomed to fail. Not once, not once, when Crowley had asked him to do something, had Aziraphale ever said no. Not since the Flood.

“Which is?” asked Crowley. He wanted to hear Aziraphale say it, the bastard. He was damn good at his job.

“That just one of us goes to Edinburgh, does both. The blessing and the tempting.” He glanced over. You’re temping me right now.

“We’ve done it before,” said Crowley, sidling slightly closer, and Aziraphale felt his chest leap at the motion. “The arrangement–“

“Don’t say that,” snapped Aziraphale, panic flaring in his chest. There was no one around, they room was still deserted, but he couldn’t risk it. Crowley had told him, once, when he was extraordinarily drunk, what happened to those who went against Hell, and the thought of that happening to his demon… it made his stomach twist, made him want to vomit up those perfectly good grapes.

“Our respective head offices don’t actually care how things get done,” said Crowley, his voice back up to normal volume. “They just want to know they can cross it off the list.”

Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself looking at the demon, still swaying slightly, hands still clasped behind his back, eyebrow raised suggestively, a vice clenching his chest. “But if Hell finds out, they won’t just be angry. They’ll destroy you.” He couldn’t lose Crowley. He couldn’t bear the thought.

“Nobody ever has to know,” said Crowley. He hadn’t heard the fear, the desperation in Aziraphale’s voice– or, if he had, he hadn’t reacted. “Toss you for Edinburgh.”

Aziraphale looked at the coin in his fingers, at his face, positively expectant, and then back up at the stage. He couldn’t say no. Not to something that Crowley really wanted. “Fine. Heads.”

Crowley tossed the coin, caught it, flipped it onto his hand. “Tails, I’m afraid. You’re going to Scotland.”

Aziraphale nodded slightly, his attention returning to the play for just a second, then heard the voice. Shakespeare’s voice. “It’s been like this every performance, Juliet. Complete dud. It’ll take a miracle to get anyone to see Hamlet.”

An idea hit Aziraphale like a lightening bolt from Heaven. He looked over at Crowley, eyes roving the demon’s face, trying to gauge his reaction, hoping he thought it’d work.

“Yes, fine, alright. I’ll do that one. My treat,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale hadn’t expected that, not at all. “Oh, really?” He could hear the joy, the admiration in his own voice, and he hoped against anything that Crowley didn’t hear this time, either. Aziraphale redoubled his grip on the grapes as Crowley turned to leave, fighting every instinct in his body to take the demon’s hand, stroke his cheek, kiss him.

“I still prefer the funny ones,” said Crowley, walking off, arms swinging by his side.

Aziraphale looked back to the play, fighting back the stupid grin spreading across his face, popping a grape into his mouth to give it something other than Crowley’s lips to focus on.

###

Aziraphale walked up to Crowley, who was standing alone by the waterfront, staring down at the ducks.

There was no greeting or anything, no hello, no how are you, and Aziraphale couldn’t say exactly why it bothered him, but it did. Ignoring that, ignoring his own discomfort at how still Crowley was standing, at the way he stared off into the distance, Aziraphale pulled his hat off and began tossing food to the ducks.

“Look, I’ve been thinking,” said Crowley. “What if it all goes wrong? We have a lot in common, you and me.”

Aziraphale blinked. He was right, of course, but if Aziraphale acknowledged it…

“I don’t know,” said Aziraphale. “We may have both started off as angels, but you are Fallen.”

“I didn’t really fall,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale fought the urge to look over at him. It was a touchy subject. Aziraphale didn’t know why he’d brought it up. “I just, y’know…. sauntered vaguely downwards.” He seemed to recollect himself, switching tones abruptly. “I need a favour.”

“We already have the Agreement, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, feeling his heart jumping up into his throat. He already knew, he wouldn’t be able to say no. Not to anything Crowley really, truly wanted. “Stay out of each others’ way. Lend a hand when needed.”

“This is something else,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale’s stomach sank. “For if it all goes pear-shaped.”

“I like pears,” said Aziraphale, sighing. He wanted to help, he really did, but the way Crowley was asking for this… he wasn’t sure how he felt yet.

“If it all goes wrong,” said Crowley. “I want insurance.”

“What?” asked Aziraphale, glancing over. Crowley was holding his and out, a small slip of paper clutched in it.

“I wrote it down,” said Crowley. “Walls have ears.”

As Crowley continued to mutter, Aziraphale read the paper, and his already-dropped stomach seemed to sink straight down into Hell. Holy water, written in large, chunky letters.

Aziraphale stared up at Crowley, searching his face, looking for something, anything that he’d missed. Crowley had always insisted he didn’t mind being Fallen, didn’t mind the life he lived. He’d always said he was doing alright, whenever Aziraphale asked. Had he been lying? Obviously, he’d been lying, or they wouldn’t have ended up here.

It took every ounce of strength Aziraphale had not to reach out, to take Crowley’s face in his hands, to pull him close and kiss him and find some way to show his positively oblivious demon how empty his life would be without him.

“Out of the question,” hissed Aziraphale.

“Why not?” asked Crowley.

“It would destroy you!” protested Aziraphale. He could hear the desperation in his own voice, and he hated it, but he couldn’t lose Crowley. He couldn’t. “I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley.” He passed the paper back.

“That’s not what I wanted for,” hissed Crowley. “Just insurance.” Crowley handed the little slip back over to Aziraphale.

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes, feeling his chest tightening. He couldn’t lose Crowley. “Do you know what trouble I’d be in if…” He glanced up. “If they knew I’d been… fraternising? It’s completely out of the question!” Fraternising. That was an odd name for fifty-eight hundred years of… whatever this was, but it was all Aziraphale could think of.

“Fraternising?” hissed Crowley.

Aziraphale felt that vice around his chest squeeze. “Well, whatever you wish to call it. I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.”

“I have plenty of other poeple to fraternise with, angel. I don’t need you,” said Crowley, and the vice around Aziraphale’s chest tightened.

“Well, and the feeling is mutual! Obviously!” snapped Aziraphale, tossing the paper away and stalking off, fighting back tears, fighting back fear. He couldn’t lose Crowley. He couldn’t. He’d have to keep a close eye on him, make sure he didn’t do anything stupid, make sure he stayed safe. If anything happened to his demon…

Aziraphale managed to keep from crying right up until he closed the door to his bookshop.

Then he collapsed up against the door, sobbing, sinking to the floor, curling into a ball and burying his face in his knees and wishing, desperately, that he was stronger, less soft, less weak and useless, less of a pitiful excuse for an angel. He couldn’t stand it. His Crowley, wanting the one thing that could properly, permanently destroy a demon, completely remove them from reality…

He had to protect his demon. He had to. For centuries, millennia, whenever he had said no to Crowley– which was not at all often– it had been for himself, to keep himself from falling, to keep himself safe. But now… knowing this… he couldn’t let anything happen to Crowley. He had to protect him. Whatever that meant.

And for now, it meant putting his foot down about the holy water.

###

Aziraphale’s books were sitting in a filthy Nazi’s filthy bag, and Aziraphale himself was about to be discorporated. He was stupid. An idiot. Captain Montgomery– no, what was her name, Frauliene Kleinschmidt– had completely fooled him. Of course she had. He always wanted to believe the best of humanity, even in the middle of this whole war, even with Nazis on every bloody street corner in London, and so he had believed her. But now it was going to be the end of this corporation, which he had kept healthy for very nearly six thousand years, and Aziraphale was rather ticked off about it.

He’d been about to be discorporated before, of course– there was that nasty business with the Reign of Terror, and then that episode in 1648 with the English Civil War, but those times had been on purpose. Those times, Crowley had been there to save him. But he hadn’t actually spoken to Crowley since that day in St. James Park, and now there was no one to save him.

“Now, where were we?” asked Mr. Glozier. “Oh, yes! Killing you.”

“You can’t kill me!” protested Aziraphale, clutching at his hat to quell the fidgeting of his hands. “There’ll be paperwork!”

The door to the church suddenly slammed shut, and a voice sounded. An incredibly familiar voice.

Aziraphale turned to see Crowley, practically dancing down the main aisle, gasping with every step as he made his way towards the group.

“Sorry, consecrated ground,” said Crowley. “Oh, it’s like… being at the beach in bare feet!”

“What’re you doing here?” hissed Aziraphale, taking a step towards Crowley, fighting the urge to grab him, to pull him close, to apologize for all those years of silence, to pick him up off the consecrated ground and ease his aching a little.

“Stopping you getting into trouble,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together, glancing back. He didn’t actually believe it, he couldn’t believe his Crowley was working with people so horrible as the Nazis, but he was a demon… “I should have know. Of course. These people are working for you!”

Crowley leaned up against a pew, slowing his bouncing ever so slightly. “No! They’re a bunch of… half-witted Nazi spies running around London, blackmailing and murdering people! I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.”

Aziraphale heard the indignation in his voice, and relief flooded through him. He elected to ignore that last bit, the bit about himself. It was easier that way.

Mr. Glozier spoke. “Mister Antony J. Crowley! Your fame precedes you.”

“Antony?” asked Aziraphale, looking over at Crowley.

“You don’t like it?” There was concern, real concern in the demon’s voice, as though he cared– but that was probably just Aziraphale’s imagination, just the effect of too much holiness around him.

“No, no, I didn’t say that,” said Aziraphale. “I’ll get used to it.”

“The famous Mister Crowley?” asked Captain Montgo– Frauleine Kleinschmidt. “That’s such a pity you must both die.”

“What’s the J stand for?” asked Aziraphale, his brow furrowing.

“Uhhhum, it’s just a J, really,” said Crowley. Then he turned. “Look at that! A whole font full of holy water. It doesn’t even have guards!”

Aziraphale could practically sense the beginnings of a plan forming in Crowley’s mind, and he knew he’d need to find a way to talk his demon out of it, once this was all over– assuming both of them managed to survive this.

“Enough babbling. Kill them both,” said Mr. Glozier.

“Ah, in about a minute, a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here,” said Crowley, back to bouncing about. “If you all run away, very, very fast, you might not die. You won’t enjoy dying. Definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.”

Aziraphale frowned. That didn’t seem right, not based on what he’d heard.

“You expect us to believe that?” asked Glozier. “The bombs tonight will fall on the East End of London.”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes.”

Aziraphale’s head swivelled almost against his will to stare at the demon. Was he implying what Aziraphale thought he was?

Crowley threw his arms wide. “You’re all wasting your valuable running away time!” His arms dropped back down. “And, if, in thirty seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.” Crowley’s eyes landed on Aziraphale, lingering on his face.

Understanding hit Aziraphale like a wave. Like a bomb. “A… a real miracle.” He nodded. It was his job, now, to save them. To save Crowley. Crowley, who had come here, unprompted, unasked, to save Aziraphale’s life, like he had so many times before, like he had always done. Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to save Crowley, and by God, he would do it.

“Kill them, they are very irritating,” said Mr. Harmony.

Crowley pointed upwards, and Aziraphale could hear them. The bombs. The screams. He could feel people around them, starting to die. They had seconds left…

Aziraphale stared up at the ceiling, watching, waiting, and just as the bomb struck, he snapped his fingers.

Seconds later, the entire church was demolished– Aziraphale could feel it, the sudden exodus of holiness. But he was alright. He was still standing, and so was Crowley, though both of them were covered in soot.

Azirapahle pulled his hat off again, holding it to his chest, fighting the feeling rising inside of him. “That was very kind of you.”

Crowley, who had taken his glasses off to clean them, put them back on. “Shut up.”

“Well, it was,” said Aziraphale, trying to make eye contact despite the dark lenses. “No paperwork, for a start.” He chuckled slightly.

Then the realisation hit him, another bullet passing through his whole body. “Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh, they’ll all be blown to–“

Crowley grunted, and Aziraphale turned to see him, holding the Nazi’s satchel. It was untouched, unhurt, all the books safe inside it.

“Little… demonic miracle of my own,” said Crowley, passing the books to Aziraphale. “Lift home?”

Crowley sauntered off, seemingly oblivious to what he’d just done, and all Aziraphale could do was stare at him, stare at his demon as he slunk away towards his Bentley. His heart was pounding in his chest. It took every ounce of self control he had not to chase after him, grab him, pull him into a kiss.

He was in love, Aziraphale realised. That’s what it had been, all these years, that’s what it had been since the beginning. But now… Aziraphale let himself name it. Let himself really feel it, feel the way his heart soared when he looked at Crowley, feel the way his entire body seemed to strain to be closer to the demon at every moment. He was in love, hopelessly, stupidly, head-over-heels in love.

With a demon.

Aziraphale knew, he couldn’t act on it. Not for himself, he didn’t give a damn what happened to him, and Crowley seemed to be doing just fine despite being Fallen, so it couldn’t be that bad. He had to keep his distance, had to stay away, for Crowley’s sake. If, after all these centuries, Aziraphale gave in, if he actually kissed his demon now…

Who knew what Hell would do?

So Aziraphale followed, meekly, trying his best to keep his distance, not complaining at the speed Crowley hit, mumbling only a quick “thank you” when the demon dropped him off at his bookshop, and then he went inside to read something, anything. Anything to take his mind off of Crowley. Off of how his lips would feel, pressed up against Aziraphale’s…

He couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not ever. It was too dangerous.

Aziraphale had to keep his demon safe.

###

Aziraphale materialised in Crowley’s car just as the demon was sitting down, ignoring his shock, ignoring the way Crowley’s entire body froze when he saw Aziraphale.

“What’re you doing here?” asked Crowley.

“I needed a word with you,” said Aziraphale. He was nervous. No, more than nervous– he was afraid. He still wasn’t convinced on what Crowley wanted the holy water for, but if he didn’t act now…

“What?” asked Crowley.

“I work in Soho, I hear things,” said Aziraphale, staring ahead, trying not to look at Crowley, at the way his arm rested on the divider between them, tantalisingly close, at the way his whole body leaned in slightly towards Aziraphale.

It failed miserably.

Aziraphale pressed on. “I hear you’re planning a… caper… to rob a church.”

Crowley turned his head, looking away from Aziraphale.

“Crowley, it’s too dangerous,” pleaded Aziraphale, fighting the urge to lean in closer, to take Crowley’s hand, to do anything to get his point across. “Holy water won’t just kill your body. It’ll destroy you completely!” I can’t lose you. Aziraphale couldn’t stomach the thought.

“You told me what you think,” said Crowley. “A hundred and five years ago.”

“And I haven’t changed my mind,” said Aziraphale, trying his best to sound resolute. Trying and failing. “But I can’t have you risking you life. Not even for something dangerous.” He sounded so desperate, and he hoped against all hope that Crowley hadn’t noticed. “So…”

He pulled the mug out, with its tartan pattern. A little reminder of Aziraphale. So that, whenever Crowley saw it, he’d remember. Remember that there was someone out there who desperately wanted– no, needed– him, needed him alive and well and right by his side.

“You can call off the robbery,” said Aziraphale. “Don’t go unscrewing the cap.”

Crowley took the mug almost gingerly, his long, slender fingers brushing up against Aziraphale’s ever so slightly as he did so.

“It’s the real thing?” he asked.

“The holiest,” said Aziraphale.

“After everything you said?”

Aziraphale nodded, staring out the windshield, fighting back tears. He couldn’t cry. If he cried, Crowley might see, might know how much he cared, and if Crowley knew…

Crowley stared at the mug for a long, almost painful moment. “Should I say thank you?”

Aziraphale couldn’t look at Crowley, couldn’t look at the way his eyes were burning into Aziraphale’s head, into his soul. “Better not.”

“Well, can I… drop you anywhere?” asked Crowley.

He wanted to say yes. Oh, God, how badly he wanted to say yes.

“No, thank you,” said Aziraphale, chancing a glance to the side, just as Crowley’s face fell.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed,” said Aziraphale, forcing the plea out of his voice, and it came out almost condescending instead, but he couldn’t care, and now the words were tumbling out of him entirely against his will as he said, “Perhaps one day we could… I dunno.. go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”

Crowley wasn’t backing off, still staring, still pleading with his face. “I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you wanna go.”

Aziraphale wanted to say yes. He wanted to lean across that little divider and press his lips to Crowley’s and pull him close and never let him go, to kiss him until the entire world faded away and there was nothing left but the two of them, together, and he knew, deep down, that if he did, Crowley wouldn’t stop him, he’d kiss him back, and that would be the end of this torturous game of distance they were playing.

But that was exactly what Crowley seemed to want the holy water for. For if Hell ever found out that he’d been fraternising– been friends– with an angel. If Aziraphale said yes, he could be dooming Crowley, dooming him to a fate worse than death, worse even than extinction by holy water, and he couldn’t let that happen.

He forced the words out, the only words that he knew could protect Crowley, protect him from himself, protect him from Aziraphale.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

He couldn’t stay there, couldn’t bear the way Crowley’s entire face fell, the way his eyes felt on Aziraphale, and so the angel turned, climbed out of the car, leaving his demon behind, fighting back tears, ignoring the way his heart pounded, the gaping hole in his chest. He had done that to himself, he had only himself to blame, it was his own damn fault, his fault for getting too close, his fault for letting Crowley in, his fault for putting Crowley in danger in the first place.

Aziraphale didn’t sleep often, but that night, he did. Dreams were better than a reality without Crowley any day.

###

Aziraphale was going to be a godfather. Of sorts. Helping to raise a child, to direct him away from darkness and onto the path of light. 

More importantly, he'd be working with Crowley. He'd have to. Rather closely, as well. To ensure they were both properly thwarting one another. To ensure the child would be normal.

Aziraphale smiled. "Godfathers. Well, I'll be damned."

"It's not that bad, really, when you get used to it," said Crowley, a small smile on his lips.

Aziraphale's face fell. He'd buggered it up, yet again, he'd messed up, he could see the pain in Crowley's gorgeous eyes. He hated talking about being Fallen, hated even thinking about it. Not that he ever said anything of the sort out loud, but Aziraphale knew. How could he not? The way Crowley's face fell every time Hell came up, the way he'd change the subject whenever Aziraphale talked about being an angel. Not about Michael or Gabriel or head office or anything like that, but actually being an angel? Performing blessings, doing miracles… 

Crowley missed it. Aziraphale knew. And it made his heart hurt to know that he could do nothing about it. 

Looking at Crowley's face, at the way that little, soft, sad smile played around his lips, Aziraphale was struck by that sudden urge again, and he was incredibly grateful to have already sobered up. It was too dangerous. Too dangerous to kiss Crowley, even if it was to comfort him, to wipe that sadness from his eyes, to make him feel holy again. 

With what they were doing, now, what they would be doing for the next eleven years, up until the boy was old enough to either cause the Apocalypse or not, it would be too risky to even dream of kissing Crowley, of taking it further. This was dangerous enough. This would make Aziraphale nervous enough for the next eleven years, even just the thought that a slip up could alert either side to their little… misdemeanours, and if either side knew, Heaven or Hell, Crowley was in danger, and Aziraphale couldn't take that. He couldn't. 

He couldn't lose Crowley. 

So he forced a smile, instead, and got up, and headed out, exchanging a few small pleasantries and deciding to meet again tomorrow and not looking back at his demon again. He couldn't. He couldn't risk it. 

It was all too dangerous. 

###

Crowley was already in the bandstand by the time Aziraphale got there, hurrying up to it.

“Well?” asked Crowley. “Any news?”

“Um,” said Aziraphale. “What- what kind of news would that be?”

“Well have you found the missing Antichrist’s name, address, and shoe size yet?” asked Crowley. He sounded angry, bitter, scornful, and Aziraphale wanted desperately to ask what was wrong, but he knew already.

“His shoe size? Why– Why would I have his shoe size?” Aziraphale stammered.

“It’s a joke,” said Crowley. “I’ve got nothing either.”

“It’s the Great Plan, Crowley.” Aziraphale couldn’t get his conversation with Heaven out of his head. The way they had all stared at him when he’d mentioned Crowley…

He knew he’d buggered it up, yet again. He always buggered it up. He’d talked too long about Crowley. He’d made them suspicious. For now, probably, Heaven would only go after Aziraphale, but if anyone downstairs caught wind of what he’d said earlier, Aziraphale knew, Crowley’s time was limited. Even if they didn’t, if Heaven decided that it was Crowley’s fault that Aziraphale had changed so much… well, the holiest of holy water came from only one place.

He couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk any of this.

“Yeah,” said Crowley, beginning to pace. “For the record, great, pustulant, mangled bollocks to the Great blasted Plan!”

“May you be forgiven,” said Aziraphale, glancing around.

“I won’t be forgiven,” said Crowley. “Not ever. That’s part of a demon’s job description. Unforgivable. That’s what I am.”

“You were an angel once,” said Aziraphale. He wished he could go back, could save Crowley, stop him from falling– an angel loving an angel couldn’t nearly be so great a sin.

But if Crowley hadn’t fallen, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he’d be someone worth loving.

“That was a long time ago,” said Crowley. He stepped closer, painfully close, close enough that it was taking all of Aziraphale’s restraint not to close the distance. “We find the boy. My agents can do it.”

What Gabriel and Michael and that whole lot had said, earlier, played back through Aziraphale’s mind on a loop, over and over and over again. “And then what? We eliminate him?”

Crowley half-nodded, half-shrugged. “Someone does, I’m not personally up for killing kids.”

No, ever, not even back in Mesopotamia all those millennia ago.

“Well, you’re the demon, I’m the nice one, I don’t have to kill children.”

“Nu-uh-uh,” said Crowley, raising his hand.

Aziraphale forged on. “If you kill him, then the world gets a reprieve, and Heaven does not have blood on its hands.”

“Oh, no blood on your hands! That’s a bit holier-than-thou, isn’t it?” yelled Crowley.

“Well, I am,” protested Aziraphale. “A great deal holier than thou. That’s the whole point.”

“You should kill the boy yourself,” said Crowley, inching even closer. “Holi-ly.”

“I am not–“ his voice tripped over the word, but he forced it out– “killing anybody.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Crowley, turning. “You are ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you.”

“Well, frankly, neither do I,” lied Aziraphale.

“Enough. I’m leaving,” said Crowley, turning to go.

Aziraphale’s voice came out strained, desperate, pleading. “Don’t leave, Crowley.”

The demon paused, turned to look at him.

Aziraphale continued. “There isn’t anywhere to go.”

“It’s a big universe,” said Crowley, his arms thrown wide, gesturing as he spoke. “Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can go off together.”

Aziraphale felt his heart leap into his throat. “Go off… together?” He wanted to say yes, God, he wanted it more than anything else. But he couldn’t. If he did– it was dangerous enough for them to be here, now. It was too dangerous. “Listen to yourself.”

“How long have we been friends?” asked Crowley. “Six thousand years!”

“Friends? We’re not friends!” protested Aziraphale, fighting every instinct, every desire in himself to do it, choking back tears as he spoke. He had to. He had to try. He had to protect Crowley. If they went off, Heaven and Hell could still find them. The Almighty’s wrath was not contained to one planet in the universe. “We are an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you!”

“You do,” said Crowley, rolling his eyes, and he was right.

“Even if I did know where the Antichrist was, I wouldn’t tell you, we’re on opposite sides!” Aziraphale shouted, turning back to look at Crowley, but all he could see was Gabriel’s face, that smug, smarmy bastard, he had ruined the only good things left in Aziraphale’s life, and Aziraphale knew he had to protect Crowley no matter what the cost was. No matter how much it hurt him, how much it hurt them both.

“We’re on our side,” snarled Crowley, taking a few steps towards Aziraphale, and it took every ounce of strength Aziraphale possessed not to close the distance, hold him, wipe that pained grimace from his face.

“There is no our side, Crowley!” Aziraphale yelled. “Not anymore.” His voice softened, thick with tears. “It’s over.”

Crowley stared at him, and Aziraphale could feel it, the betrayal, pouring off him in waves.

“Right,” said Crowley, nodding, biting his lip. “Well, then.” He grunted, then turned, walked away.

Aziraphale looked away. He couldn’t watch. He’d ruined it, ruined it all, all six thousand years of friendship, of love.

“Have a nice doomsday,” Crowley called over his shoulder, and then he was gone, and Aziraphale was alone, alnoe with his thoughts, with his feelings, with his regrets.

He kept his feet planted, practically glued to the bandstand’s floor, fighting every instinct in himself to run after Crowley, to apologise, to kiss him until the tears stopped and the world vanished, but it was too late. It was better, this way. This way, Crowley had a chance. A chance, however slim, to survive.

Aziraphale would give anything to make sure he did.

###

They had survived.

The Apocalypse hadn’t happened, and the boy had saved the world, and Heaven and Hell had failed to kill Aziraphale and Crowley. They were alive, together in the bookshop, about to open up a lovely Chardonnay, and Aziraphale was positively giddy with happiness. They didn’t have to keep watching over their shoulders anymore. They could be together in public without fear. They could talk together, eat together, just enjoy each other’s company, and after all the horrible things he’d said throughout the course of this past week, throughout the past six thousand years, that alone was infinitely more than Aziraphale deserved.

Of course, he wanted more. He’d wanted more for… Lord, he couldn’t even remember how long. But he was content with what they had. As long as Crowley was safe, Aziraphale was content.

Crowley had sprawled out on the couch after pouring himself a rather full glass of wine, and Aziraphale was struck by the sudden urge to sit next to him, properly, on the same couch. Not across the room like normal.

Aziraphale finished pouring his own glass and said, slowly, “The other demons really were quite brutal during your trial.” He sat down on the couch, beside Crowley, and couldn’t help but notice how the demon seemed to flinch. He didn’t push Aziraphale away, didn’t get up, so Aziraphale hoped it was alright. “It seemed like the whole of Hell was in attendance. You didn’t even have a defence! There were two demons there to make sure that they ‘didn’t forget anything.’” Aziraphale heard his voice starting to break a little. Being down there, seeing what Crowley had dealt with for all those millennia, seeing the disdain in their eyes as they looked at him– it was the worst part of what had happened today, by far. Knowing what Crowley had been through. “It was awful, Crowley, all of them were just so, so horrible to you– well, me, but they thought I was you. I’m…” Aziraphale’s voice broke again, but he pushed through. “I’m so sorry you had to put up with that for so long.”

Crowley was silent for a long moment, almost painfully long, just staring at Aziraphale, so Aziraphale kept talking, trying to lighten the mood somewhat as he leaned back against the plush cushions. “I do hope my trial was a tad more comfortable for you. Who played the defence? I’m sure they got someone stupid to do it, but I would rather like to know.”

Crowley was still silent, still staring, his mouth slightly agape. Aziraphale almost asked what was wrong.

Then he spoke. “Angel… you didn’t…. you didn’t get a trial. You… they just tried to execute you. Gabriel and Uriel and Sandalphon…”

Aziraphale paused, staring, half at Crowley and half at nothing at all. He hadn’t gotten a trail? “Oh. I… I suppose… well, I had assumed…”

“That Heaven were the good guys,” said Crowley. “I know, angel. You never listened when I told you your side wasn’t all that different from mine.”

Aziraphale had listened. He had heard it, every time Crowley had said it, but he had never wanted to believe it was true. He had always thought that there had to be something, anything to make Heaven truly different, truly better than Hell.

He sighed, and another thought rose in him. Another thing he could act on. Crowley had moved on, obviously, moved on from that brief bout of… whatever it had been, in 1967, but perhaps this would be alright. He reached out, took Crowley’s hand, gave it a small squeeze, and when he felt Crowley shift to hold him back, he couldn’t stop a smile from forming. “Well, it doesn’t matter much anymore. We’re on our side, now. And we’ve got the rest of eternity here.”

Without warning, Crowley leapt to his feet, his wineglass clattering down onto the tiny coffee table, somehow, his hand wrenching free of Aziraphale’s. “I can’t do this, angel. I can’t do this anymore.”

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped. He had buggered it up, yet again, could he do nothing right? He’d pushed too far, he’d messed it up, and now his Crowley… He had to take it back.

“Oh, no, Crowley, I’m so sorry–“ Aziraphale stammered.

Then Crowley began to talk, and it seemed like a dam had broken, as he paced back and forth, gesturing with every other word. “I love you, Aziraphale. I love you, I’ve always loved you, for six thousand years I’ve been in love with you…”

He was still talking, positively rambling, but Aziraphale couldn’t hear him. Crowley loved him. That was more… that was more than he ever had hoped for, ever had dared to dream for, in six thousand years, and somehow, Aziraphale had always known, always seen it, just a little, but he’d never let himself dream that it could be real, that his feelings could be reciprocated.

Aziraphale couldn’t have stopped himself if he wanted to, and this time, for the first time in six thousand years, he didn’t want to. He rose to his feet, crossed the distance to Crowley in three steps, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and kissed him, desperate, hungry.

Crowley froze, a tiny noise escaping him, and then he relaxed into it, kissing Aziraphale back, and it was chaste, their mouths still closed, but amazing all the same, and all Aziraphale could think of was how long he’d wanted this, how often he’d thought of it, and how much better it was than he ever could have imagined.

Finally, after not nearly long enough, Aziraphale pulled back. He had to talk. Had to explain himself. “I love you, Crowley. I… I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry that I kept you waiting for so long. I didn’t… I wanted to protect you. I wanted to keep you safe.” A small laugh escaped him. “Looks like that was all for nothing.”

Crowley made a noise, almost like he was choking. “You… also… you were protecting me?”

Aziraphale nodded, almost fiercely. “You were absolutely right, I saw it today, first-hand, Hell doesn’t just send rude notes, and I didn’t… I never…” He bit back the tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t lose you, Crowley. If I had… I don’t think I would’ve been able to go on, without you. If anything had happened. If they had ever found out.” Aziraphale was babbling, he knew it, but he kept talking anyways. He had to say everything he was thinking. “I love you, Crowley, I love you more than any living thing has ever loved another, and I’ve loved you for so, so long. I’m so very sorry it took me so long to realise it, and I’m sorry… I’m sorry for pushing you away. For saying that you go to fast.” His voice broke, again. He was a mess today. “I’m sorry for hurting you, all the times that I did.” Knowing, now, how Crowley felt… he knew it had been a lot. More than he had ever thought. The way Crowley had always looked at him, like he couldn’t keep his eyes off him, and the way Aziraphale had always acted like he’d rather look anywhere else… it made his chest hurt to think about it.

Crowley was crying, tears streaming down his cheeks, out from under his glasses. Those stupid glasses, hiding his gorgeous eyes. Aziraphale reached up, pulled them off, tossed them to the side, and whispered it again. “I love you, Crowley.”

“I love you, angel,” said Crowley, a smile spreading across his face, a real one, a genuine smile, and it made Aziraphale smile, too, and he decided that there was no reason left not to give into his instincts.

He reached up, one hand tangling in Crowley’s short, soft, rust-red hair, pulling him down into another kiss, and this time their mouths opened together, and Aziraphale felt Crowley’s tongue flit in between his lips. Aziraphale gasped, almost against his will, and he felt Crowley smile against him in response.

Aziraphale had no idea what he was doing. He’d never kissed anyone before, not once in six thousand years. It had never seemed… important, really. Never worth it, not with anyone but Crowley.

Crowley pulled back, and Aziraphale’s lips felt suddenly cold without him. Crowley’s eyes were searching his.

“Am I going too fast, angel?” asked Crowley.

Aziraphale felt his stomach twist at the line, his line, from so many years ago. Crowley had never forgotten, but it had been a lie, it was a lie then, and it would be a greater lie now, and Aziraphale saw recognition in Crowley’s eyes– he knew what his demon was good at, what his specialty was, and he knew that Crowley could see that expression on his own face now.

“My dear, we’re not going nearly fast enough,” Aziraphale breathed.

Crowley practically lunged forwards, kissing him again, hungry, desperate, trying in one kiss to make up for six thousand years of lost time, six thousand years of waiting. And Aziraphale was ready, more so than he’d ever been, and

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!


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